Hot, Hot, Hot
It was hot yesterday. Not only was it hot, but the humidity was so bad, the air was so thick, that every breath felt like it was being drawn under water.
Perfect day for a job interview.
My hair is long--it hangs down past the middle of my back. Did I pull it up yesterday? No.
I could feel the sweat mark growing on my back, under my hair, like a demonic ink stain with every step I took.
The bus was hot; the metro hotter.
The walk from the metro to my interview was long and without shade. My backpack felt like it was filled with bricks...wet bricks. My interviewer's office was on top of the hill from hell.
When I finally reached the top (making a mental note to start exercising again), I stopped to catch my breath and to pray that I was not having a heart attack. I don't think that someone will offer a job to a person who has a heart attack every day on their way to the office.
I paused in the entrance of the building to let myself cool down. I thought I was cooled off, silly me, but my interview was on the second floor. It's funny how a 5 degree difference in temperature can change everything.
As my future employer began talking, I could feel the sweat start to bead on my brow. I tried to ignore it, but drip by drip, I could feel myself being blinded. If makeup isn't tested on animals, what is it tested on? Yesterday, it was tested on my eyeballs, and I can tell you that although it did not blind me, it felt as though someone was pouring vodka onto my corneas.
I must have been making a wonderfully entertaining face, because my interviewer stopped talking and stared at me.
I sighed and said, "I can tell by your face that you noticed the look on my face. I'm sorry but...(and I bent over and pulled a tissue from my bad and wiped my face off)...it is just so hot out and your office is on such a steep hill..."
He laughed. I laughed to hide my mortification. I then blurted out that I was mortified, which blew my cover.
I am a moron.